Hero
by Lukeprism
Summary: In which Layton is a cop, Flora is a victim of assault and Luke is the idiotic hero that tries to save her. AU, rated T for mature themes and swearing, oneshot.


_**DISCLAIMER**__**: I never said I owned Professor Layton, and I don't say I do now, 'cause I don't.**_

—**s—t—a—r—t—f—i—c—t—i —o—n—**

He felt dirty. Disgusting, actually. Where was he again? He was too disoriented to figure out where he was, but he could feel the cold, hard ground underneath him. His entire body ached, and his eyelids felt as heavy as lead, too heavy for Luke to be bothered to lift them at the moment. There was something warm, a liquid that pooled around his midsection, and he could feel the absence of clothing around his middle. The left side of his face felt hot and puffy, so he assumed he would have a black eye or something sooner or later. He couldn't for the life of him remember what had happened.

However, he knew that he couldn't stay, laying there like a dead fish forever. So he summoned up what little strength he had left and opened his eyes, attempting to lift himself from the floor in the process.

It was dark. He could make out the narrow alley he was lying in; there was a dirty, overfilled dumpster a few meters away from him, and there were a few rodents scurrying along the opposite wall a few more meters away. Trying to lift his body proved to be more difficult, as his arms seemed reluctant to even move, let alone work. He managed to power through it, though, propping himself up on the wall behind him. Panting from the exertion, he took an experimental look down.

Oh God.

His blue shirt was ripped clean off from his ribcage down, leaving his entire stomach showing, and there was a huge, deep gash with some dry blood around it in his left side that throbbed painfully as soon as he laid his eyes on it. The blood was everywhere, or so it seemed; there was an awful lot around him on the floor and the wound still bled, dripping down his body like some kind of thick fruit punch. Even worse still, his pants were undone, them and his boxers bunched up around his knees and leaving his crotch completely exposed.

Okay. What the _fuck_ happened?

He couldn't remember anything. He wasn't sure he wanted to remember. Had he been... Damn him for thinking it, _raped?_ He wasn't a chick. Guys didn't get raped. At least, not usually. Right? Oh, Goddammit, what the hell was he _doing _here anyway? The blood on the ground was still warm, so it couldn't have been too long ago; twenty minutes at most? He struggled to stand himself up, slowly pulling himself upwards with the brick wall behind him as a support. Could his attacker still be around here somewhere? There was nothing for it; he couldn't just lay there and let himself bleed to death. He was almost upright when a sharp, jolting pain shot through his lower back and—oh God, his _ass_.

Well, shit. That was a huge blow to his masculinity. Wincing, he ignored the pain and straightened himself up, standing fully upright now. He didn't have time to feel sorry for himself; he needed medical attention, preferably sooner than later. His vision swam around as he tried to get his bearings, his hands clinging to the wall desperately. His wound had now started to sting, and he felt dizzy and faint from the blood loss. Walking with his pants around his knees would look weird as hell, not to mention hard enough to do _without_ a huge gash in his side and a sore ass, so using one hand and leaving the other on the wall to support himself, he pulled them up as far as he could, at least covering his crotch and looking halfway decent, not bothering to button or zip his jeans. He spotted what he hoped to be his grey jacket on the ground next to him, and upon further inspection, it was indeed his. With difficulty, he bent over and scooped it up, putting it on as fast as his wobbly stance would allow. Now all that was left was to find a hospital before he fell over again and died.

So he started walking toward the main street; he could see a streetlight in the distance, about ten meters away. The first few steps nearly had him gasping in pain, but when he gritted his teeth and powered through them, the pain faded into a nagging sensation that he could bear for the time being. _Damn_ his attacker. Sure, a few punches, a shank, that's all fine and good. But _rape? Really?_ Horny _bastard_. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. His pace was slow, but he was getting somewhere, and soon he reached the main street, which was all but empty, leaving him stranded and without help in the thick silence.

Luckily, though, from his position he could see the street sign: Flatstone Drive. Wonderful, only a few blocks away from Auckland Lane, where the nearest hospital was located. Hopefully he'd be able to make it before he collapsed. He turned to his right and continued his trek, feeling confident enough in his footing to walk without the wall. He held his side tenderly, and felt the blood seeping through his jacket already. He had to suppress a groan.

After a few minutes' progress, his body suddenly shuddered. As much as he was pushing himself to go on, he could feel what little energy he had left dissipating, like someone was sucking it up through a straw. He uttered a string of vivid curses as his body slowed to a snail's pace; it seemed to take everything he had just to lift his legs. The bleeding was getting worse, as was his dizziness, and it was an all-out battle with his instincts to keep himself upright. He could hear a siren coming from somewhere. Was that just his imagination? It was getting louder, closer to him_. Must keep moving_. His ears started to hurt from the incessant sound, and he could see lights, red and blue ones, coming from behind him.

He turned around. _Damn_, he was going to fall down soon. Sure enough, sitting there on the curb was a police car, lights shining and siren ringing. The noise and lights disoriented him. Why was it so loud? The driver door opened, and out stepped a man—a police officer, with short brown hair and a plain-looking face. He was the real deal, dressed from neck to toe in legit cop gear, complete with a shiny badge on his chest.

Suddenly, his knees buckled. He was unable to keep himself upright anymore, and was almost relieved to be falling toward the hard pavement. The last thing he heard was the sound of footsteps racing toward him above the sound of the siren as his vision went dark.

_-asdfjkl;-_

The first thing he thinks upon regaining consciousness?

_Head hurts like a bitch._

Okay, maybe it's an exaggeration. He certainly does feel better than he had before; he feels somewhat clean and warm instead of cold and dirty. His head still throbbed, but that could be dealt with relatively easily. He briefly wonders how long he's been out before he notices the voices in the background, two that actually sound pretty close. One decidedly female and the other quite clearly male, the woman sounding teary and distressed and the man sounding sympathetic. He wasn't focused enough to make out what they were saying.

So he opens his eyes. The light nearly blinds him, but after a moment his eyes adjust enough to better observe his surroundings. He is in a hospital ward, a rather small one at that. The room is all white, with the exception of the two dark blue chairs sitting on the wall opposite his bed. There's a mirror on that wall as well, giving him a clear look at himself from another point of view. He'd been right in predicting a black eye; his left eye is an unappealing shade of red and purple. His hair is matted and disheveled, and he has a sudden urge to run a hand through it. One of his arms, the left one, has a needle in it, something he assumed to be an IV. His shirt has been removed and his gash has been bandaged well, though you can see a little blood seeping through it. His pants are on, still unbuttoned and unzipped just like he'd left them, and his brown loafers are on the floor, leaving his feet in his plain white socks.

There are two people the room to match the voices he's heard. One, the male, is the same police officer from before. Up close he's rather attractive, his face young yet experienced, and at the moment contorted into a sympathetic expression. The other, the woman, who looks no older than twenty-one or so, is also attractive, at least she probably is when she isn't bawling her eyes out and sniveling almost pitifully. She looks like someone she loves has died or something. She has chocolaty brown hair swept up into a ponytail with a huge curl covering most of her forehead, making her look like someone of important status. As soon as he sees the girl, he remembers everything. What had happened to him, why and when, everything. Well, almost. They both stop talking when they notice that he's conscious again and look at him.

"So you're awake," the man says.

He blinks. "I guess so." His voice sounded scratchy and faint, like he'd screamed too much recently.

The girl makes a loud sniffling noise, and the man clears his throat. He looks at her and smiles a little. "I'm afraid I'll need to talk to him alone now, miss," the man says.

The girl nods furiously. She wipes her eyes with a small white cloth and hurries out of the room. The man closes the door behind her and hesitates only for a moment before turning toward him, face serious. "Alright then, I'm going to need to ask you a few questions," the man says, folding his arms across his chest. "An easy place to start would be your name. What is it? Full name, please."

He deadpans, thinking it a bit redundant to say 'full name'. He wasn't an idiot. "Luke Triton," he answers, brushing a lock of his brown hair out of his face.

The man nods, writing this down on a pad of paper he'd picked up a few moments before. "I see," he says. "Okay then. Do you remember anything that happened to you before I found you?" he asks, looking at Luke again.

Luke nods in response. "Yes, I do."

The man nods also. "If so, can you please tell me what happened, leaving out no details?" he asks, his pad and pen at the ready.

Luke hesitates only a couple seconds before he agrees. "Right, okay. Well, I was just walking, minding my own business and going to the convenience store on the corner of Flatstone and Midgarde, when I hear this screaming coming from the alley a little ways ahead of me. I run ahead to see what the matter is, since there isn't really anyone else around so late at night, and see this guy, this huge guy pinning that girl that was just in here to the wall, and.. Well, you know, touching her inappropriately."

The man nods, as if he'd expected it. "I see. Have you ever seen that woman before tonight?" he asks.

"...she seemed kind of familiar somehow, like a celebrity or something, but not really, sir."

Another nod. "Hmm. And then?"

So Luke continues. "Well, I couldn't just walk away and pretend I hadn't seen anything. So I yell at him from the street, telling him to stop and get his hands off her, but he isn't even fazed. Not seeing any other choice, I walk up to him and push him away from her. She's shaking and crying at this point, so I try to calm her down a little, when the guy come up to me and pushes me away and tells me to mind my own business and just walk away. But there's no way I can, now after all that, so I stand up to him and tell him to stay away from her, and he lunges at me and grabs my shirt. He starts wailing on me, so I try hitting him back and land a few hits, but not much compared to him, as you can see," Luke pauses here, a small, humorless smirk on his face.

The man nods, returning that smirk with a small, apologetic smile but saying nothing.

"Yeah, and by that point she'd run away, though I didn't think she would've come to the police like that. Either way, I managed to get him off me for a second when he pulls out a knife and cuts me in the side, really deep by the looks of it. That catches me off-guard, and he took that opportunity to land an uppercut right on my face, which I'm pretty sure is what knocked me out. I don't really remember anything after that."

The man nods yet again, scribbling something down. "I see. Have you ever seen that man before?" he asks once more.

Luke shakes his head. "No, sir."

Again, the man nods. "Alright, then. Is there anything else you want to tell me, or any questions you may have?"

Luke hesitates here. Should he tell this guy that he'd been raped? Maybe that was only the doctor's business. Then again, if he told this man, maybe he could land the bastard in jail for assault and rape. Although he _really_ didn't want to be known as the person who'd been raped. He set that aside, though; it was more important to track this guy down, wasn't it? If not for his sake, then for those future targets of his. Luke clears his throat. "Well... I think he... I think he may have... He, uhm... He raped me." Once he manages to get the words out, he looks away sharply, ashamed of himself.

If the man looks surprised, he only did for a second before his serious face was back again. "Do you remember this happening?" he asks, scribbling things down on his paper again.

Luke's face turns red. He doesn't really want to talk about it, but he was the one who brought it up, so he had no choice. "N-no, I don't, but my a-butt hurts. Really freakin' bad."

The man scowls but nods, scribbling some more. After a minute of looking over his notes, he puts the pad of paper and pen aside, and stared at Luke seriously. "This is quite an accusation," he says.

Luke's expression turns indignant, but before he can argue, the man holds up his hands. "I'm not saying I don't believe you, I'm just saying that we're going to need more than your word to get this guy convicted," he points out, crossing his arms again.

Luke looks confused for a moment before he realizes what this means.

The man just nods, feeling no need to explain anymore. "Are you willing to be tested?" he asks, though he's pretty sure he already knows the answer.

Luke doesn't think his face can get any redder than it is right now. "...Y-yeah."

The man nods a final time, clicking his pen and putting it in the breast pocket of his sleek black uniform. Pocketing the pad of paper, he looks at Luke seriously. "I'm glad, you know. Not for what happened, of course, but for the fact you're stepping up to the plate: if we can get this guy off the streets, it'll be one less sicko out there."

Luke doesn't know how to respond, so he just nods in agreement.

The man goes on. "Anyway, I'll let the doctor know. After that, I'll contact your immediate relatives. Anyone you'd prefer?"

Luke does not hesitate; he doesn't want his father coming down to get him, he doesn't think he can live through that embarrassment. "Brenda Triton."

He nods. "Alright then. My name is Hershel Layton, and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to get ahold of me," he says, giving the boy on the bed a small smile before opening the door and exiting the room.

Was it just Luke, or had it gotten hotter in the room?

_-asdfjkl;-_

About an hour later, he walked out of the room with clean clothes, a prescription for pain relievers and only a small amount of dignity left intact. The whole ordeal had been bad, but that test... That was the worst of it, at least the worst of what he'd been conscious for. His mother had come screaming into the room right in the middle of the procedure. Didn't they have rules about that sort of thing? Talk about embarrassing.

Said mother was hovering over him, still crying and moaning over him protectively. "Oh, my _baby! _Why would anyone do this to such a sweet boy? When we find out who this guy is I'm going to smack him in the mouth _so hard_—"

Luke interrupts her. "Mom, calm down. I'm going to be _fine_, so just stop crying. Please?"

She looked at him, her hair hastily thrown up into a bun and her face lacking its usual amount of makeup, but when you get a call from the hospital concerning your seventeen-year-old son at two in the morning, you don't really concern yourself with trivial things like primping and mascara. Her eyes were teary, but she nodded and pulled him into a huge hug that made him gasp in pain as she inadvertently grazed over his gashed side. "You're right. My baby's safe."

As they made their way down the stairs (curse them for putting him on the second floor, his ass was _killing_ him), they heard what sounded like a small crowd of people, chatting away animatedly. Luke raised an eyebrow. When they reached the bottom step, however, his stomach lurched.

There were cameras and news hosts gathered around the hospital entrance, eagerly talking to that girl that he'd saved earlier and an older man, who looked very well off and dressed in pretty expensive-looking clothing, standing next to her. News crews worked this early in the morning? The police officer, Hershel Layton, stood over to the side, frowning but saying nothing as the people swarmed them with question upon question. When they saw Luke and his mother, though, a lot of them ignored the girl completely and came straight for him.

Brenda frowned. "Reporters, ay?"

Layton, seeing this, immediately made his way toward them, beating the others by a couple of seconds and standing in front of Luke almost protectively. This did not deter the reporters, who shouted questions at him fervently.

A blonde lady with way too much makeup on shouted louder than the rest of the lot. "Are you the young man that saved Lady Reinhold from harm?" she asks, her microphone thrust in Luke's face.

His face backs away quickly and reflexively, and he struggles to answer. "Wha? I, erm, y'know-"

"He has no comment."

Luke and his mother looked up at Layton, whose expression was rather intimidating, as if daring them to talk back to him. He was sticking up for them? Man, what a nice guy. Unfortunately, this only confirmed the question that had been asked, much to Luke's chagrin.

They only hesitated for a moment. Another reporter, a large man with thick brown hair, fires off a question of his own. "A few eyewitness reports say that the attacker viciously attacked you, and by the looks of it, that's correct, isn't it?" he asked, his voice nasally and annoying.

Luke was taken aback. What eyewitnesses? Oh, right, the ones that stood by and didn't do anything. The ones who were too busy or wasted to care. Not that there were many people out and about at one in the morning on a Tuesday, but still. So _now_ they decide to come out, when they have a shot of being on TV. God, people suck.

"Someone else claimed that the man brutally raped you. Is this true?" another woman asked eagerly. The cameras were rolling and flashing, catching the deer-in-headlights look Luke had clearly. He stuttered stupidly for a second before he managed to blurt, "N-no comment."

"Shame on you for harassing us!" Brenda shouted indignantly. "Can't you see he needs rest?"

A few people turned to her. "You must be his mother!" another man exclaimed. "Tell me, what is your take on all this?"

She looked positively livid. "_Why, you!_ What kind of question—"

Suddenly a few employees came rushing into the room. They looked exasperated and irritated. "I'm going to have to ask you lot to leave the premises," the oldest man of the group said, ushering the news crews out along with his coworkers. "You're considered solicitors, and we have patients trying to sleep!"

Within the minute, everyone was out of the building with the exception of Luke, his mother, Layton, the girl and the older man with her. They stood there a bit awkwardly for a moment, before the girl suddenly tackled Luke in a bone-crushing hug, to everyone else's surprise.

She nearly started to cry again. "Thank you so much for saving me!" she cried, squeezing him hard. Then she let go. "I didn't know what I was going to do, with that man all over me like that, but then you came and pushed him away!" She smiled at him, her eyes sparkly. "You were very brave."

Luke laughed sheepishly, covering up the pain she'd caused by squeezing his wound almost entirely. "Yeah, I suppose."

The man behind her smiled. "Thank you for doing that, laddie. If you hadn't stepped in when you did, who knows what would have happened to my darling little Flora," he said, putting an arm around his daughter's shoulders affectionately.

And suddenly, it clicked. Luke and Brenda both gasped. "Y-you're the Duke, Augustus Reinhold!" they both exclaimed in unison. The Reinhold family was well-known around London, famous for being one of the wealthiest groups of people in England. Luke suddenly remembered where he'd seen Flora before; she'd been featured on TV a while back. Gee, no wonder the reporters had flocked here once they'd heard the heir to the Reinhold fortune had been attacked.

He laughed heartily. "Yes, that's me!"

Layton, who'd been standing there quietly for all of this, smiled and cut in. "Duke Reinhold here has been generous enough to take care of your hospital fees for you," he said.

Brenda gasped at that.

Duke Reinhold laughed again. "Indeed, and if there's anything else I can help you with, please feel free to let me know!"

Brenda shook her head quickly. "Oh, no, Mr.—_Duke_, Duke Reinhold, that won't be necessary!" she insisted, bowing her head low. "You've already done _more_ than enough! We're just glad that dear Lady Flora is safe and sound."

After a few minutes of Reinhold insisting and Brenda politely declining, both parties decided to leave, as it was very early in the morning and everyone wanted to go to bed after such a long night. Before they left, though, Layton confronted Luke.

"So," he began, putting his hands in his pockets, "how'd the test go?"

Luke inwardly groaned. Did he really have to bring that up now, in front of his mother and the Reinholds, for God's sake? Flora was literally less than a meter away! Nevertheless, Luke answered him. "Okay, I guess. They said that it's... That it's definitely a positive, but that it'll take some time to figure out who it was exactly..."

Flora, who had been eavesdropping shamelessly, piped up. "Oh, the man who attacked us? I recognized him as that villain off TV, the... oh, what was his name... Ah, yes, Evan Canterbury! That was him!"

Luke's face fell. Now that he thought about it, it definitely _had _been that guy. He was one of the most wanted people in London, and Luke felt like a total _idiot_ for letting that crucial fact slip his mind.

Layton looked rather surprised. "Really? Oh, dear. Well, as soon as we have the proof, that's another crime to add to his list of felonies."

Luke just nodded; he suddenly felt very weary and tired, and wanted nothing more than to curl up in his warm bed and sleep for days. Mothers apparently have built-in instincts that tell them things like this, because Brenda giggled. "It looks like someone could use some rest. If you'll excuse us, officer, Duke Reinhold," she said, pushing her son toward the door from behind.

"Aye, as we should be getting back home as well," the Duke said jollily. "Thank you so much for your work today, officer. Hopefully we'll have this creep behind bars soon."

Layton smiled, crossing his arms across his chest. "You can count on it, sir," he replied respectfully.

"Yeah, thanks, Officer Layton," Luke yawned as his mother also said her thanks before they were out the door, the chilly nighttime air going right through his clean blue shirt and jeans and making him shiver.

His mother tutted. "I'm sorry you're cold, but I can't let you walk around in a jacket with blood all over it," she said as they made their way toward her small red car. "In fact, it'll be a wonder if I can get the blood out of it at all..."

Luke snorted as she pulled her keys out of her pocket to unlock said car. "Gee, I'm sorry, Mom, next time I'm _assaulted_ by a _most wanted criminal_ I'll remember to take off my jacket," he retorted, opening the passenger door and entering the vehicle.

Brenda frowned at him. "You know that's not what I meant," she pouted as she started the ignition.

The drive back home was uneventful; just fine with Luke, whose night had been eventful enough to last him the rest of his life. As his mother hummed along to some Britney Spears song he didn't much care for, he stared out the window with half-lidded, exhausted eyes. All he'd wanted was some milk from the convenience store so he could have oatmeal the following morning. What did he get? A black eye, a deep cut in his side, and his virginity stolen. _Well._ It was almost worth it, though, knowing that for a moment he had been, in a way, a hero, saving the filthy rich and not at all bad-looking Flora Reinhold from a bastard criminal. Maybe they'd meet again sometime. But for now, the only thing Luke wanted was a nice glass of milk and his warm and comfy—

Wait.

He never did make it to the convenience store, did he?

_Damn._

—**e—n—d—f—i—c—t—i—o—n—**

_**A/N: Am I the only one who thinks that Layton would make a damn sexy cop?**_

_**Please leave me a review, telling me what you liked, didn't like, or things that I can improve on. They're always appreciated! Thanks for reading, and adieu~**_


End file.
